


Wash Out

by Kanja



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Dubious Science, First Meetings, Gen, I CHALLENGE YOU TO A RACE, M/M, Senpai Notice Me, author goes nuts with setting, author takes creative liberties with pretty much all canon, crushing on older dudes, everybody hates iverson, flash cards and french kisses, heavy melodrama, keith is bad at humaning, matt holt is everything, rage issues, smooth criminal shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 08:18:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14445171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanja/pseuds/Kanja
Summary: Shiro sees something in Keith that no one else does. Matt gets a muffin and hacks a database. Iverson gets his nose broken more than once. Keith's life is changed forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a story that's probably been done a thousand times before. Please accept my paltry offerings anyway, VLD fandom.

“... blood tests, zero-G scans, results from last week's physical,” Shiro said, planting each sizable docket down on the counter side by side. “Only thing you're missing is a note from my mother.”

 

The processing officer snorted as he gathered up Shiro's documentation, dropping it dutifully into a plastic file and checking off a few boxes on the label. The papers were in good company, joined by a hundred or so more that had accumulated over the years. “Better get on that, Shiro. Security's doubling down due to that stupid hacker.” Shiro snickered, and the officer tapped the file a few times on the surface of the counter, jostling all the papers into neat order. “I'll get these scanned into the system now. Should only take a few moments.”

 

“Take your time. Nothing better than spending a Saturday morning in a stuffy office.”

 

The officer made an empathetic noise through his nose, and Shiro turned, digging into his jacket pocket for his device. There were at least fifteen texts from his engineer urging him to remember to do exactly the task he was in the middle of now, and in the process of clearing them from his screen, Shiro felt eyes like a solar flare boring into him, liquid hot and impossible to ignore.

 

Across from him, there was a line of lightweight plastic chairs set against the wall of the adjoining office. Lieutenant Palmer, the Garrison's citation officer and resident hardass, liked to make an example of troublemakers by sitting them outside like this. Shiro's class had called it the Row of Shame, and he'd spent one or two humiliating days fuming in a chair himself before he'd wisened up and learned how not to get caught.

 

This kid, though, didn't look young and curious and full of an innocuous enough desire for adventure. He looked _furious_ , as if Shiro had somehow done him wrong simply by virtue of showing up in his space at all. There was something very cold in his expression too, very detached, super unsettling. Shiro had never seen a look like that before in his life, and stood stock still and silent until he was startled out of his reverie by the officer's voice.

 

“'Kay. Got you scanned in. Just need your siggy and you're good to go.”

 

Shiro cleared his throat and held his index finger out for the pad. The officer guided his hand and the box muttered a low digital refrain as its laser traced his finger.

 

“Who's that?” he asked, subtly nodding toward the kid.

 

The officer squinted. “Oh, that's just one of the grant kiddies. Don't feel too bad for him; they all wash out within a month. Turns out we're a prestigious academy, not a charity, no matter what the bleeding hearts say. Thumb.”

 

Shiro complied, but found his eyes narrowing. “You'd think they'd be grateful for the opportunity.”

 

“You'd think, but they're all borked in the head. Too bad too, that one's top of his flight class. Would've had a decent career ahead of him if he could keep his temper in check.” The officer flashed a small, sheepish smile. “Beat your record on the Kerberos sim, you know.”

 

Shiro leaned across the counter. “You've been snooping around my files?” he asked, staring the officer down hard.

 

They locked eyes for a moment, then burst out laughing in unison.

 

“Never change, Shir. And hey, good luck with the app. Don't forget me when you're a big hotshot hero.”

 

“Thanks, Ken. It's always a pleasure.” Shiro waved him off with a quick salute as he turned to leave, grinning like a fool. His expression quickly dissipated into something milder when he caught the kid's stare again, black like a room thick with smoke and hatefully unwavering.

 

“Don't mind him,” Shiro said under his breath as he approached the kid. “There's a reason he's pushing papers.”

 

Still, the kid said nothing. Unfaltering, Shiro offered a hand.

 

“I'm Shiro,” he said.

 

The kid's lip curled. “Only an idiot wouldn't know who you are,” he snapped.

 

Shiro held his hands aloft in surrender. He could sense Ken behind him, making I-told-you-so motions, but did not take his eye off the kid. “Just thought I'd be courteous. I hear you're a respectable pilot as well.”

 

“I'm _embarrassing_ you,” the kid corrected him. “You wasted three vital seconds in that Kerberos sim, which might as well be an _eternity_ in atmo.”

 

“It's not a race,” Shiro pointed out. “The foremost responsibility of a pilot is ensuring the safety of his crew. Saving time is great, but prepping the landing takes priority.”

 

“You sound just like Iverson,” the kid snapped, folding his arms. For the first time, Shiro noticed how bruised and bloodied his knuckles were, surrounded by a galaxy of scars that looked unevenly healed with wild variations in age. Everything about this kid was starting to make sense.

 

“You know what?” Shiro said, finding his smile again. “You're right. Three seconds is a lot, and I'm not a huge fan of being embarrassed.”

 

The kid tensed, never having heard the words “you're” and “right” coupled like that together in a sentence. Shiro could almost hear his brain short circuiting, firing synapses that had no idea where to go or how to react. The fire in his eyes hadn't abated completely, but it was flickering oddly.

 

“There's no way my engineer is getting in that sim rig again, but what about a race?” Shiro asked, leaning in to murmur privately. “The old track in the canyon’s still got most of its trails intact, if you'd like to embarrass me in person.”

 

“That's…” the kid mumbled, eyes sliding beneath his half-drawn lids. “Like, one of the worst offenses you can go down for.”

 

Shiro's gaze dropped to the kid's knuckles. “About half a point below bloodying your instructor's nose, but yeah. You scared?”

 

This time, the kid noticed him looking and concealed his hand under his jacket defensively. “Do I _look_ scared?” he demanded. Shiro would say that he looked scar _y_ , burning with conviction and something cold and calculating, fear and everything else gone from his eyes.

 

“Meet me tonight then,” Shiro said, straightening his posture, meeting that honed stare with a lopsided grin. “Try not to make a scene.”

 

The kid cursed under his breath, but the metallic clang of the door kept Shiro from discerning anything too specific. Out in the hall, in the company of students jogging to their study meets, instructors prowling in packs, and guards standing stoic and silent with their rifles on display, Shiro was sobered out of the thrill and into the reality of what he'd just done.

  
_Shiro_ , he thought to himself as he cleared his throat and bounded toward cafeteria, _what the hell were you thinking?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Shiro have a system and that good-good kind of friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies to Bazhutov.

“You need to be more careful,” Shiro said, depositing a large muffin on Matt's desk and throwing down a carton of orange juice beside it. Matt swept them out of the way of his computer screen just as quickly as Shiro set them down, his eyes never straying from the code he was meticulously scanning. “Even Ken down in Archives knows someone got into the database. He knows you. What if he says something?”

 

“Relax,” Matt muttered, completely distracted. “Cracking the database isn't like getting access to official emails or spoofing reports. She doesn't like strangers, but we're like old pals now and it's smooth sailing from here. Besides.” Matt bowed his head to shoot Shiro a look, one that did not have quite the dramatic effect that it used to when he wore those big old wireframes. “Ken's in Archives for a reason.”

 

“Point taken,” Shiro said, leaning on his chair and scooting the muffin back over. “Even perfect machines need to refuel.”

 

“You've obviously never studied Bazhutov’s essays on anomalous physics. It was only a few decades ago that we had no idea heavy hadrons even  _ existed _ . That statement will be utterly obsolete much sooner than you think,” Matt chattered, picking at his food like a bird. Everything was an exercise in deconstruction to him, even this. “Is this blueberry?”

 

“You know it,” Shiro said. “Here's to hoping Bazhutov forgives me, both for neglecting his work and interrupting this fascinating lecture with a request.”

 

“Ah,” Matt said, tossing an excavated blueberry into his mouth, eyes alight with intrigue. “This isn't a stringless muffin.” 

 

“I bring you lunch every day,” Shiro reminded him. “But yeah, just this once, there's strings.”

 

“Good,” Matt said, cracking the OJ open with a decisive twist and hunching over his keyboard. “Tell me it's tier one classified. Maybe you want the president's dental records?”

 

Shiro shook his head regretfully. “Sadly, no. Just a sim recording.”

 

Shiro watched his friend promptly deflate. 

 

“The…” Matt muttered, “...  _ president's _ sim recordings?”

 

“Sorry to disappoint you, Matt,” Shiro said gently. “Just the current greenie class.”

 

“This is way below my pay grade,” Matt whined, flicking through his screens with dragging, dramatic gestures. “I get it, though. It's that Keith kid, right?”

 

“Keith?” Shiro asked, sidling down beside him. 

 

“Yeah. Greenie on a grant, came into the program two months late and shaved three seconds off your sim record on his second session in the rig. Well. Two-point-five, to be precise. They round up.” Matt struck a key and the screen darkened as it switched over to a recording. He skipped from frame to frame with purposeful stabs at the board as he continued. “Put his own engineer in the infirmary. She couldn't handle the rapid pressure shift and hit her head on the nav boot when she passed out.”

 

Shiro's eyes narrowed as Matt hit play. The formerly quiet room was disrupted by a riot of screaming people and wailing electronics, but in the video, Keith was still in his chair, eyes intent upon the starshield of his ship, unmoved by the chaos around him. 

 

“He's got impressive stats,” Matt said, leaning back in his seat, “but I'm glad I don't fly with him. He's the kind of guy who would toss his whole crew into space if it meant shaving half a second off his times.”

 

Shiro watched a moment longer, then reached over Matt's shoulder and stopped the vid. “I need one more thing.”

 

“Should've brought two muffins,” Matt said with a wicked little smile. “Tell me it's messing with the watchdogs.”

 

“It's messing with the watchdogs,” Shiro assured Matt, which earned him a delighted little sound. “I'll bring you back a mountain of tacos from the Cabana.”

 

“And a tub of guac, or you're not getting past the fence,” Matt warned him sweetly, happily clacking his way back to a dizzying faceful of code. “Go easy on the kid.”

 

“I think that's the last thing he'd want,” Shiro murmured, ruffling Matt's hair into his eyes. “Thanks for everything, buddy.”

 

“Remember the guac, pal,” Matt replied, scowling as he fixed himself back up again.


	3. Chapter 3

Keith could not hide his bewilderment when he met Shiro at the top of the canyon, standing beside his craft and staring out at the night sky like he was looking for something. Shiro was not a gambling man, but he'd bet a million dollars that he knew what that something was.

 

“You're not gonna see any aberrant light sources tonight,” Shiro assured him, causing Keith's shoulders to stiffen. 

 

“All the guards seem to think otherwise,” he muttered. 

 

“Yeah,” Shiro snickered. “I bet they do. You gonna suit up or keep looking?”

 

Keith answered by zipping up his jacket with a mean little purr and looping one long leg over the seat of his craft. 

 

“You ever run this track before?” Shiro asked. 

 

Keith twisted the throttle until his engine growled. “What do you think?”

 

Shiro nodded. “We finish at Red Rock. Last one there buys the milkshakes.”

 

Keith was following him up until that last part. “... What?”

 

“Go!” Shiro yelled, kicking his craft into gear. He had no doubt that Keith would try to overtake him in the beginning, and if he wanted to stick to the plan, he could not let that happen. It was no small surprise when Keith soared up beside him, driving his craft to the bitter dregs of its capabilities in order to not relinquish a scant inch of track. But Shiro knew this track like the back of his hand, letting rote memory take over to keep the pace until the first turn. 

 

For what it was worth, Keith  _ tried _ to get inside the turn. But Shiro slowed as he did the same, puttering behind as Keith hit the turn hard and leveled out his craft. That was when Shiro gunned it, ramming the broadside of Keith's ride, sending them soaring over the edge of the canyon. 

 

Shiro's radio clicked on. 

 

“You're cheating!” came Keith's incredulous shout. 

 

“Oh, so you're the only one allowed to break the rules around here?” Shiro snickered, leveling the nose of his vehicle so that he sailed smoothly down the sharp incline. “Watch and learn, greenie.”

 

His routine was interrupted by a sudden cloud of dust and a blurring shadow fishtailing wildly to kick up as much dirt as possible. With visibility gone and no way to see where or how he'd crash into Keith's ride, Shiro was forced to abandon his route and take a slower, more careful way down. 

 

“Get on my level!” Keith shouted triumphantly, blazing down the cliff like a daredevil with a death wish. If Shiro didn't know any better, he'd think he saw a smile through the dust. 

 

“Famous last words,” Shiro said, spying the route Keith had decided on and easing the rest of the way down. No use wasting precious seconds spinning out of control when he could build up gradual speed for the next obstacle. 

 

“What are you—”

 

Up ahead, Shiro watched Keith spin out badly as the sudden divergence in the path resolved itself. One had to make a razor sharp ninety degree turn in order to not go speeding off a far more lethal cliff face, and though Shiro knew Keith’s reflexes were snappy enough to save him, he also knew he was too focused on the moment to prepare for the loss of momentum. 

 

As Keith switched gears, Shiro sped by. 

 

“Cute trick,” Keith said. 

 

“Thanks. I'm pretty fond of that one.”

 

The radio went quiet, and so, for that matter, did the road. Shiro realized he was all alone in the valley, Keith nowhere in sight. 

 

“... Keith?” he asked. “Where are you, buddy?”

 

“How's this for an aberrant light source?” Keith asked, and Shiro had no idea what he meant until he came upon the access road to the track. As he ascended the slope, a yellow glow flashed before him, shrinking and intensifying rapidly, and he became suddenly aware of the sound of something roaring through the air. 

 

All at once, it clicked in Shiro's mind. Keith had gone up the  _ other _ side of the canyon, for no better reason than to shake Shiro's confidence and obliterate his rhythm. The leap he had to make was formidable, next to impossible, but Shiro was forced to slow and watch the graceful way he arced and sticked the landing. 

 

“No way,” Shiro said, gamely pursuing. “You're amazing.”

 

“And you're losing.”

 

“Nah,” Shiro scoffed. “Watch and learn.”

 

There were no moves he had to make, no master techniques or aerial stunts to pull. The rest of the track was a few simple turns, but the contrast between their approach made all the difference. 

 

Keith was impatient—impatient to win, impatient for this to be over, impatient to overtake him _now now now_. It bothered him that Shiro was so close, so he went wide into their first turn so that he could spring in front. Shiro let him have it, but kept hot on his tail, diverging only when it came to the next turn. Again, Keith went wide, but Shiro saved seconds by slowing down and steering tight against the canyon wall. Keith tried to speed but had to relent and slow his acceleration at the last moment, forcing him to come up short on the final stretch. His craft shuddered as he pushed it to its absolute limit, growling into the mic, but even that was not enough to overtake Shiro as he sailed smoothly under the hollow point of Red Rock, Keith half a beat behind and broadcasting choked, furious sounds over the comm.

 

“If I'd known you were a cheating  _ bastard _ —” Keith howled, leaping off his craft and storming Shiro's way. 

 

“You owe me a milkshake,” Shiro announced smugly. 

 

Keith was frozen in his tracks. “ _ What _ ?”

 

“Mint chocolate chip,” Shiro specified. “Whipped cream. Cherry on top. Only Patty's will do.”

 

“What are you  _ talking _ about?”

 

“That's what we were racing for, right?” Shiro said, clapping a hand on Keith's shoulder. 

 

“I thought you were racing for your pride.”

 

“Seriously? I was looking forward to losing for once tonight,” Shiro said, low and frank. “You would've won, if you'd stayed focused on those last few turns.”

 

Keith growled irritably, shrinking out from underneath his hand. “I wouldn't have  _ had to _ if you hadn't cheated.”

 

“No, that would've been way worse,” Shiro said, grinning. “I've never lost on this track, and it takes a lot for me to lose my focus.”

 

Keith's eyes flashed as he quietly took it in. Impatient, temperamental, and hungry for victory as he was, Shiro got the impression that he'd never been beaten at anything before. Rather than submit to an outburst, Keith nodded and softly replied, “You will.”

 

“Can't wait,” Shiro said, beckoning Keith over to his bike with a gesture of his chin. “But first: milkshakes.”

 

* * *

 

The frustrated, hopeless sound Keith made as he tried to sip from his clogged straw was nothing short of hilarious, but Shiro tried with all his might to hold back. He was already getting quite a stare-down. 

 

“You can't really sip a Patty's shake,” Shiro said, offering him a spoon. Keith snatched it out of his hand irritably. 

 

“I wouldn't know. Never had one before,” he muttered, flipping up the plastic top. 

 

“No way,” Shiro mused, grinning. “This is the best place in the whole desert to get 'em. You've been missing out.”

 

“I didn't mean I haven't had them  _ here _ ,” Keith snapped, shooting Shiro a baleful glare over his hovering spoon. “I meant I've never had one of these  _ ever _ .”

 

“... Oh.” Shiro tried to shrug the revelation off. “Well, that's not so weird.”

 

“Yes it is,” Keith mumbled, staring at his shake instead of Shiro. He fidgeted with the spoon, twisting it up and watching the heavy, viscous ice cream slough off slowly. “Just like it's weird to not know how to vacuum, or fold clothes, or play video games, or have friends...”

 

“It's a lot weirder to give someone shit for not knowing those things,” Shiro said softly. “Believe me.”

 

“I guess I should,” Keith murmured. “Everyone seems to think you're the center of the universe.”

 

“You don't have to,” Shiro said. “You could try the shake for yourself, for starters. Maybe I'm wrong and it's not the best thing you'll ever taste.”

 

Keith glanced at him, then lifted the spoon. For a moment, he seemed on the fence about putting the whole globby mess in his mouth, but with Shiro's eyes on him, there didn't seem to be any way around it. Shiro was quiet as he cleaned the spoon, waiting a beat to ask, “... Well?”

 

Keith frowned. “There's no way this can be legal,” he said, scraping another big mound of ice cream up onto the spoon. Shiro could not help but laugh this time, and Keith made a twisted face before he relented to laughter too. “It's all for me?” he asked carefully, as if he expected the answer to be negative. 

 

“If you can finish it,” Shiro said. 

 

Keith leaned over his cup, spoon hovering readily. “You're on.”

 

“We're both gonna regret this in the morning,” Shiro warned, but that did not keep him from starting the countdown. 


	4. Chapter 4

Before Shiro knew it, there came a point where he couldn't remember ever walking to morning council without Keith beside him. They'd meet up after formation and Keith would follow him to the offices, even though his first class was in the opposite direction. Made for a good morning jog, he'd told Shiro, and never missed a day. 

 

“My times are still a little too high for my liking,” he said, rolling his eyes when he caught the look on Shiro's face. “I know, I know. I'm not sweating it. Anyway, my ranks are way higher, and I guess that's what matters.”

 

“That's what gets you noticed,” Shiro told him. “In the way you want, I mean.”

 

“I'll have you know it's been an entire month since someone in my crew passed out,” Keith replied, not unkindly. He was still a little severe, but Shiro got it now. “Too bad they don't put that on your eval.”

 

“They really should,” Shiro said, snickering. He paused in front of the glass door to put a hand on Keith's shoulder and catch his eye. What needed saying needed a certain amount of gravitas. “You're gonna do great today, Keith. You're gonna knock this eval out of the park.”

 

Keith's gaze dropped, and returned more determined than ever. “I won't let you down.”

 

“You need to do this for yourself,” Shiro said, sighing. 

 

A furrow appeared between Keith's brow, and he opened his mouth to speak, but was immediately quieted by a booming voice behind them. 

 

“Get your ass to class, cadet!” Iverson snapped, his boots striking up a thundering cacophony as he marched down the hall. 

 

“Yes, sir,” Keith muttered, jogging off. Shiro watched him go, watched Keith look over his shoulder twice before he turned the corner and disappeared out of sight. 

 

“I dunno know what you said to that kid,” Iverson drawled, watching him too, “but I don't even recognize him anymore. Far cry from the little shit who socked me in the face last month.”

 

“Yeah?” Shiro asked. “You think he's gonna pass his eval?”

 

“Not with his record,” Iverson snickered, reaching for the door. He growled as his way was barred, glaring from Shiro's arm to his face.

 

“Hear me out.”

 

“Make it quick,” Iverson ordered. 

 

“Keith is ranking in the top 1%. He has the potential to be a better pilot than I could ever be.”

 

“You're gonna get sent up to Kerberos and make a good, long career of pioneering space with that pet nerd of yours,” Iverson said. At Shiro's surprised silence, he scoffed. “What? You had any doubt that you were gonna get picked?”

 

“It's the most important mission this Garrison has ever set out to do,” Shiro blurted, out of breath and half out of his mind with what it all meant. “If we made it, we'd be making history. I couldn't—”

 

“Yeah, well, you  _ can _ . And you will. Don't you worry; forty years down the road, space will be just as boring as this glorified dog pound, I'm sure.” Iverson narrowed his eyes. “My point is we don't need another  _ you _ , because we've already  _ got _ you.”

 

Shiro was still reeling, but could not let that be the end of it. “What can I do to change your mind?” he asked. 

 

Iverson growled. “Just drop it.”

 

“Please,” Shiro said, stepping side to side to block him. “I'll tell whoever makes the history books that you were my inspiration.”

 

Iverson rolled his eyes. “You want to keep him in the program? Fine. Teach him how to focus.”

 

“Sure,” Shiro said, and Iverson laughed. 

 

“Good  _ luck _ ,” he scoffed, and shoved his way inside. “You're gonna need it.”

 

* * *

 

“So,” Keith said, stepping out of nowhere with a spare tray held out in offering. Shiro noticed that he'd already gathered Matt's muffin and orange juice for him. “What's the plan?”

 

“Plan?” Shiro asked, still caught up on the muffin thing. He took the tray from Keith and joined the rest of the Garrison in the serving line.

 

“It's Friday night,” Keith said matter-of-factly. His voice dropped. “Patty's again?”

 

“Don't you have evals through the weekend?” Shiro asked, taking a step forward with all the rest. 

 

“Yeah,” Keith said, frowning. “Why?” Shiro watched as his spirit sunk gradually, deeper and deeper until he looked completely crushed. “You've got other plans. Just forget it. Of course you do.”

 

“Keith,” Shiro sighed. “You’re supposed to be focusing on your eval.”

 

“My ranks are fine and I'll do fine,” Keith replied. “What's it matter?”

 

“This is important.”

 

“I don't care,” Keith snapped. “I don't care about Iverson or what a bunch of washed up pilots who couldn't make the cut think about me.”

 

“I care.”

 

That was different. So different that Shiro left Keith behind on the next step. It took him a split second to recover, his brows drawn together, mouth twisted. 

 

“Why?”

 

Shiro sighed. “Because I want you to  _ have _ something, Keith. Something no one can take away from you. Don't you want that? Don't you want to  _ be _ something?”

 

Keith growled. “I don't care.”

 

“Fine,” Shiro relented. Much as he wished there was more than one weapon in his arsenal, it would be remiss of him not to use it. “Gotta say, I'll miss hearing from you once you wash out.”

 

Keith's tone prettied up real quick. “What?”

 

They'd finally reached the front, and Shiro took a moment to order up their usual: chicken curry, vegetable medley, and two sides of chocolate mousse that would both go with Keith at the end of lunch. Once they moved on, Shiro told him, “We're not allowed to contact anyone on the outside.”

 

“Oh,” Keith said. “I didn't know that.”

 

Shiro tried not to think about why. Keith hated anything like pity, and Shiro found it hard to school his expression when Keith talked about how lonely it had been before Shiro came around. It was never in depth and usually not on purpose, but it never failed to break his heart.

 

“Focus on your eval,” Shiro repeated. 

 

“I will,” Keith said, so vacant now that Shiro had to grab his tray to keep the food from slipping off of it. That made him snap back into reality, but only just barely. “I've never really thought about spending the rest of my life here.”

 

“No?” Shiro asked, sliding his card at the register, taking Keith's, and sliding his own card again. Keith was so out of it that he didn't even have to be too stealthy about it this time. “Is there something else you wanted to do?”

 

“I guess not,” Keith said, slowly following Shiro to the table. “It would've been nice to never see Iverson again, but I guess that's off the table now.”

 

“Unfortunately,” Shiro said, unable to help a quiet laugh. “He's not so bad once you're out of his nest.”

 

Keith was looking at him oddly, though, as if something huge had only just dawned on him. 

 

“What's up, Keith,” Shiro asked, passing over the little plastic tub of mousse. 

 

“What do  _ you _ want to do?” he asked. 

 

“That's easy,” Shiro said, grinning wide. “I wanna go to space.”

 

“ _ Obviously _ ,” Keith said. “Why else would you be here?”

 

“Okay,” Shiro agreed. “I wanna pilot the mission to Kerberos.”

 

Keith went quiet for a moment. “Iverson says that's gonna be the toughest job in the whole Garrison to get.”

 

“Chances are, I won't,” Shiro amended quickly. “There are plenty of other pilots with plenty more experience. Dos Santos has even been to space before, so he's an obvious choice—”

 

“But you should get it,” Keith said, gaze soft and cloudy and set on Shiro. “You're the best.”

 

“It's not enough to be the best,” Shiro told him. “Patience and persistence, that's the key.”

 

Keith rolled his eyes. “Spare me the lecture, sensei. I get it. I focus on my eval, good things happen. You keep being the best, and maybe you get to fly to whatever's after Kerberos.” His eyes averted quickly, very suddenly interested in his food. “Maybe I'll get to go with you.”

 

Shiro felt a hollow form in his heart. The concept of leaving the earth behind hadn't been difficult until this very moment, but the look on Keith's face changed everything. 

 

“I'd like that,” he said with a sad smile, reaching across the table to squeeze Keith's wrist. “But it won't happen if you don't ace your evals, so…”

 

“So I'll ace them,” Keith said, as if it was a simple decision to make. Shiro supposed that with his talent, it was just that easy. “It'll be worth it just to watch Iverson disappear from the window of a shuttle.”

 

Shiro snorted. “That's the spirit, buddy.”


	5. Chapter 5

The next few days were rough, but they got through them together. For Shiro, it was the slow, simple torture of not knowing what decision had been made about Kerberos til Monday morning. Before the weekend, there had been a flurry of things to keep up with: physicals, evaluations, scans, labs, and paperwork, paperwork, paperwork. No longer crushed beneath the weight of needing to get a million things done in a short time frame, all Shiro had left was to obsess over whether or not he'd made the cut, and what it meant if he didn't. 

 

Or if he did, which had become its own beast with a maw of a thousand lethal implications in the past month. Leaving would mean leaving Keith, who was capable and strong and wouldn't  _ die _ without him, but Shiro could not pretend that it'd have no repercussions. There was no denying the fact that Keith was only doing well in class lately because he thought that was what it took to maintain their friendship. Shiro truly feared what it would do to him to lose that if he were to go, but that wasn't all. 

 

As the days went on, he'd filled up the empty, agonizing hours by helping Keith with his studies. These often stretched well into the night, so late that it wasn't unusual for Shiro to wake up next to his friend with no recollection of falling asleep at all. There was something about opening his eyes to the sight of Keith curled into a ball beside him, nose tucked against his chest, that felt just as right as it made him feel guilty. He worried that Keith was so starved for kindness that their relationship was little more than the first opportunity to come along, sad as it was to think. But on mornings like these, with Keith crowded as close to Shiro as possible, drawn to him by some subconscious longing for his warmth, he let himself think that it could be more. That maybe Keith felt the same way he did, mystified by this random connection that never should have been, this cosmic draw to someone who challenged and inspired him. It was one thing to be admired by his peers, but to impress someone like Keith—a person unlike any Shiro had ever met— _ that _ was a thrill. It made him want to be better. It made him want to top everything he'd ever done. 

 

And the greatest conflict of all: it made him want to wake up like this every morning, basking silently in the liquid gold atmosphere of his room, content to stay this way forever, watching as Keith's lashes fluttered open to reveal his stormy violet eyes. 

 

“Must've dozed off again,” he mumbled, rattling off a few sorries without meaning a single one. It wasn't like he was moving. “What time is it?”

 

“Morning,” Shiro said, the thickness of his voice surprising him. 

 

“Dammit,” Keith grumbled. “Am I late to my eval?”

 

“You don't have an eval today,” Shiro reminded him. “You get your results tonight.”

 

“Guess I should get back to my dorm then.”

 

“Guess so,” Shiro said. 

 

Neither of them moved. 

 

Shiro was about to doze off again when he felt Keith's fingers brushing over his knuckles. Cracking one eye open, he spied Keith apprehensively testing the boundaries of his braveness, his eyes flicking from Shiro's face to their hands back and forth and back and forth. Shiro made the decision for him, intertwining their fingers and turning on his side so that he could tuck his cheek against Keith's soft hair, which coaxed a little noise out of Keith that Shiro hadn't heard before. 

 

“You okay?” he asked. 

 

“I don't know,” answered Keith. “Yeah.”

 

“You don't sound so sure,” Shiro mumbled. 

 

“I'm good,” Keith insisted. “But I don't know how to deal with that.”

 

Shiro understood. His fingers tightened. “Remember when we raced, and you gunned it toward that turn, because all you cared about in that one moment was catching up to me?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Do that now.” 

 

Keith murred low in his throat, something too drowsy and content to be a full laugh. “I almost fell off a cliff.”

 

“Let me worry about falling,” Shiro said, feeling Keith nod beneath his chin. 

 

“I trust you,” Keith said, sounding absolutely terrified. Shiro got his free arm around him and Keith did not relent in pulling him closer until he was absolutely crushed against Shiro's chest. Eventually, holding Keith as tight as possible became as natural as laying there beside him and Shiro was able to drift away on the warmth of it all, dreaming himself into a place where nothing mattered but the bond between them. 


	6. Chapter 6

And then it was over. Shiro waited in his room for Keith to come back with his eval results, but he never showed. Around midnight, Matt sent a text over, capslocked and gratuitously punctuated, telling him the good news. 

 

They were going to Kerberos. 

 

They were going to make history. 

 

Text after text came in, but something just didn't feel right. Eventually, he fell asleep with his phone on his chest, waking up to a text he'd written to Keith but never sent. 

 

_ Got the Kerberos job. Don't know if I  _

 

The next time Shiro saw him was at formation. The graduates row was behind the cadets, but Keith usually sneaked a glance or two his way. Not so this time, and when the crowds dispersed, Keith was gone, fading like an apparition. He wasn't at lunch, either, and was nowhere to be found that night. Shiro sent him a cursory text—a simple “ _where you been?_ ”—but it went all night without being seen.

 

Days passed, longer and slower than Shiro had ever known. By then, Matt was frantically texting him every hour on the hour to get his papers signed. Like his texts to Keith, they languished, unread and unreplied. 

 

It was days before he finally caught up with Keith somewhere he couldn't be avoided. Keith was strolling down the hall, balancing the tip of a pass on the pad of his finger, and Shiro just happened to be the only other person around. He stopped short, and Keith's gaze snapped up, the pass nearly fluttering out of his grasp. 

 

“Keith,” Shiro said, so full of words he couldn't pick a single one. 

 

“Hey, man,” Keith said, his smile too big and too bright. “I heard the news. Congrats.”

 

“Thanks,” Shiro said, stumped. “Is that why you're—”

 

“Leaving you alone?” Keith asked. “Yeah. Like I said, congrats. I know this is everything you've ever wanted.”

 

He took a step forward, walking directly into Shiro's arm. Growling, Keith fixed him with a red hot glare. 

 

“I don't want this, Shiro. Let me go.”

 

“It’s not like I'll be gone forever,” Shiro reasoned. “I'll come back. You don't have to—”

 

“Sure,” Keith said without conviction. “Shiro, let me go.”

 

“ _ Listen to me. _ No matter what happens out there, I'll find my way back to you. That's a promise.”

 

That was it. Keith's next words were loud and hissed and dripping with vitriol. “You say that like it means something.”

 

“Keith—”

 

“No,  _ you _ listen to  _ me _ . You can make any promises you want, but I know when people leave, they don't come back.” Shiro grunted as Keith shoved him back a few steps, his head buzzing too much to do anything about it. “I don't want your goddamned promises.”

 

Shiro swallowed roughly and acquiesced with a nod. “Well, it's my last week on Earth,” he said. “What do you want?”

 

“Nothing,” Keith maintained. “We managed all this time before we met. It's better if we just go our separate ways now. Get it over with.”

 

Shiro stepped aside and Keith passed him by like a storm, leaving him with skin that felt windshorn and raw. Still, he watched Keith despite his burning eyes, willing him to glance over his shoulder just once, like he used to. It was the worst idea Shiro had ever had, because when Keith turned the corner without looking back once, Shiro realized he'd begun a race against time before he lost his mind—one that he was already losing. His only option was to race back to his dorm, sinking to the ground the moment he heard the door latch, hands tangled in his hair and pulling hard, his eyes unfocused, refusing to tune into the reality of his cold and empty room.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Shiro had his papers done the next day. Matt had even talked him into going out to celebrate with his father and a few friends at a nice place in the city, which made for a ritual he could lose himself in. There was a suit to steam, cufflinks to match, hair to trim and style. The smell of his cologne was transformative, taking him back to all the small victories they'd toasted before, to every graduation and new year and all the little things in between. Shiro found his smile in the mirror, surprised to see it after all this time, and gave himself credit where credit was due for cleaning up so nice.

 

Then he texted Matt that he was coming, shimmied into his jacket, and opened up the door.

 

Keith was caught mid-knock, fist frozen in the air, his mouth twisting at the sight of Shiro in his suit. It only took a second for him to change his mind again, turning on his heels wordlessly with every intention of disappearing again.

 

“Wait, Keith,” Shiro pleaded.

 

Keith studied him like a particularly tough equation, but Shiro did not miss the subtle way his nostrils flared, taking in the scent of his cologne. Maybe that was what drew him closer, his gaze unsure of where to land and nervously flitting from place to place, his hands lifting and dropping and raising again.

 

“You're…”

 

“Busy?” Shiro asked. “Dinner can wait.”

 

Keith turned his cheek, scowling under his breath. “I don't know how to make you hate me,” he admitted, sounding woefully defeated. “I just want to make it easier to say goodbye, but you see through everything.”

 

Shiro gave a sad, short little laugh and stepped forward. “It's not going to be easy, but that's all right. Saying goodbye never is, even if it's not forever.”

 

Keith let loose a shuddering sigh.

 

“I didn't really come here to say goodbye,” he said. Shiro caught on quick enough to hit the open panel for the door, timed it well enough to coincide with Keith shoving him right through it, backing him up into his room and against a wall with his hand planted in the center of Shiro's chest. The second the door closed behind them, Keith's hands were all over, trembling hard but purposeful. Permission passed between them in a single shifting glance, and Keith surged forward at the same time Shiro gathered him up in his arms, their lips meeting in a graceless crash that was more about need than sensation. Eventually, Keith figured out how to turn his head and relented the death grip he had on Shiro's hair, and Shiro stopped squeezing all the air out of his lungs, and they relaxed into each other, one common rhythm between them.

 

It could have been ten seconds or an eternity until Shiro's phone went off, he had no way to tell. Keith said, “Get that,” against his lips, and when Shiro shook his head no, Keith fished it out of his pocket and started the call for him.

 

“Hello?” Shiro said, trying to clear the thickness from his throat in record time. “Oh yeah. Dammit, yeah, I'm—”

 

Keith looked far too pleased with himself for pulling this stunt. Shiro was all but honor bound to clap back.

 

“I'm bringing someone, we're on our way.”

 

All Keith's smugness quickly vacated like spooked birds fluttering from a tree. “I don't have a suit,” he protested.

 

“Wear your service uniform.”

 

Keith's cheeks were darkening. “I've never been to a place where people dress up,” he said quietly. “I'm gonna embarrass you.”

 

“Believe me,” Shiro told him, working his hands back into Keith's hair, his fingers scratching idly, “I'm not going to notice anyone but you anyway. I couldn't care less.”

 

Keith's lashes fluttered, as pleased with Shiro's answer as he was with the nails dragging slow circles against his scalp. “I want some of that good smelling stuff.”

 

Shiro laughed, leaning forward until their foreheads collided gently. “You've got it,” he said. “Anything else?”

 

“I'll keep you posted,” Keith murmured, grinning through another kiss. “God, you smell so good.”

  
“God, you taste so good,” Shiro said, and together they managed to make themselves thirty minutes late for dinner, which surprised absolutely no one once Shiro's friends saw exactly who it was that he showed up with in the end. Once, Matt even managed to catch his eye in that rare occasion when Shiro's gaze was not glued to Keith and his suddenly blazing eyes, and the second Shiro caught his best friend's smile, Matt took the opportunity to mouth,  _ Finally _ .


	8. Chapter 8

Keith woke up to the kind of cold that came from spending all night in the arms of someone who did not stick around. His hands smoothed over drearily empty sheets and he rolled onto a pillow that still smelled of fresh shampoo and cologne that was not his, groaning. 

 

Papers rustled in a far off corner of his room, prompting him to crack one eye open, staring hard until the fuzzy shapes he saw resolved into Shiro scrutinizing a fan of wrinkled papers. He must've dug them out of the jeans Keith had left on the floor, which was not the way Keith particularly wanted to start this morning, nor this conversation.

 

Oh well, there was no helping it now. Lifting his arms up above his head, he stretched until everything burned pleasantly and said, “Just say it. And come back to bed.”

 

“Sorry,” Shiro murmured, “I caught a glimpse of them and I needed to know—”

 

“ _ And come back to bed _ ,” Keith reiterated, staring hard at him. 

 

Shiro laughed, all shoulders and no sound, and rolled back into bed with him. 

 

“You make me look stupid,” Shiro said, his voice quieted by awe, his fingers gentle as they stroked the side of Keith's face. “What are you?”

 

“Passing my eval, supposedly,” Keith murmured, flashing teeth in a wide grin as he settled down on Shiro's chest. 

 

“You're gonna be all the things they say I am,” Shiro said, and though Keith narrowed his eyes, he continued. “You're gonna get a lot farther than Kerberos with ranks like that.”

 

“Not without you,” Keith growled, twisting Shiro's collar til it dug a bloodless white line in his skin and kissing him til the breath expired in his lungs. Shiro used his first gulp of new air to laugh softly. 

 

“Sounds a lot like a promise,” he said. 

 

“Damn straight it is,” Keith declared. “If I never let you go, we never have to say goodbye.”

 

And so it was decided. On that final day, with Shiro in his suit and Keith in his service uniform, which still carried the faint aroma of cologne and spilled champagne, they stood in the shadow of the shuttle and grinned at one another and knew exactly what to say. 

 

“See you soon,” Shiro said. 

 

“Sooner than you think,” Keith replied, sighing as Shiro squeezed all the air out of him one last time. 

 

“ _ Hurry _ ,” Shiro whispered against his lips, giving Keith a kiss that he still felt as the shuttle roared to life and traced a smoking ladder to the sky, a kiss that still tingled for weeks and weeks after, even when he was bored or busy, alone or surrounded by other people. He still felt it when he stared up at the stars at night and fooled himself into thinking he could see Shiro gazing back, and kept feeling it like a third degree burn when the intercom clicked on in class and announced that the Kerberos crew had been declared K.I.A.

 

And since no one in the Garrison had any desire to help him fulfill his promise, Keith treated himself by implanting his fist in Iverson’s scowly old face one last time before he skipped out and wandered into the desert. It wasn't a matter of where or why or how but  _ when _ he'd make good on his promise to Shiro, and if he ever for a moment forgot it, he had that kiss branded on his lips to remind him. 


End file.
